Drabble Series 1: Were We Talking?
by snugsbunnyfluff
Summary: That Dwarf has the perfect way to shut you up!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything and am very sorry for my defiling of all characters from Tolkien's and Peter Jackson' respective works. All mistakes are mine. Not beta read. Last line credited to BtVS

Summary: That dwarf has the perfect way to shut you up.

You had been terrified. Terrified enough to scream, shout, cry hysterically, flail your arms around, stomp around the fire and throw a stick at that damn wizard, before stomping away from 13 mouths hanging wide and one stern looking dwarf whose face was almost swallowed by his frown.

You stamped along, kicking leaves and dirt up as you went. Continuing your tirade about orcs, goblins, wizards, wargs, eagles, flaming pinecones and the drastic amount of gore and severed body parts you'd seen.

You weren't prepared to accept any responsibility for not taking the quest seriously. In your defence, this hadn't seemed real. People didn't get _thrown_ into another world. Especially when it was a fictional world, with fictional characters.

It just. Didn't. Happen!

Here you were, in the world of Hobbits and Dwarves, Orcs and Goblins. You knew kind of what was going to happen, and because of that, Gandalf had happily declared you a Seer.

All of the Dwarves, except one, and the Hobbit thought you were better than sliced bread. Their illustrious leader with the perfect hair — you ground your teeth and flicked your tangled mess back – wasn't convinced of your magical abilities. It wasn't that Mr. Heavenly-Blue-Eyes didn't buy your story that irked. It was that you fully agreed with him.

You weren't really much use with no fighting abilities and zero-sense of direction. In the tunnels of Goblin Town, Thorin Oakenshield could have died several times if not for his _really_ quick reactions, and not because he was a lousy fighter.

No. it was because he was busy protecting you.

At this rate, the King under the Mountain would never live to reach Erebor. You'd lost count how many times you'd slowed the company down. And his remarks after the thunder battle about you being lost and that you had no part in this quest, were well-aimed.

And now, it was taking its toll. You needed to leave before you got that honourable, dignified, quiet, beautiful, perfect-haired totally hot Dwarf, who oozed male sexuality from every gorgeous pore, killed.

In the book, Thorin Oakenshield was not hot. He wore a fricking sky-blue hat with a tassel. A silver tassel. Add to that he also wore some bling and played a harp. He couldn't have been less male if he'd worn a dress.

And for the umpteenth time you wished, he would suddenly look like that. Because then you wouldn't feel this shitty.

A twig snapped behind you. You turned from kicking leaves to look at the very Dwarf, who dominated your every living breath.

He held a snapped twig in his hands. Well, that explained the noise, and he was making his point clearly. You would never have heard him, or likely anyone else, sneaking up on you. Another lesson learned, and another nail in his coffin because you weren't careful.

"You should be more careful."

Oh. Hell. No!

You marched up to him, one finger stabbed into his chest, and you let loose with both barrels. "I should be more careful. Me!" you stabbed again. "How many times did you nearly get injured, well?" Another stab, "How many times did you have to pull me out the way?" You stabbed harder, bending your finger back, but ignored the pain. "How many times have you had to save my useless arse?"

"You! You are the one who should be more careful." You stepped into his personal space. "You should not have put yourself on the damn line. You're too important. I'm not." Your injured finger slashed towards his face. "You are worth a hundred, a thousand times what I am. You're worth ten Erebors. And yet you nearly threw it all away, just to save me. What the hell is wro—"

His lips were on yours, his tongue flicking out against your full bottom lip, before slipping into your slack mouth tasting you thoroughly. His tongue, oh sweet Lord his tongue. It licked against yours, before flickering a challenge and you accepted. Chasing his tongue back into his mouth, making him slant his mouth harder over yours. His arms came around you, and you felt yourself being tipped back. Resting in his strong, capable hold.

A hand laced into your hair, and even the tangled knots in your hair seemed affected as they untangled to swirl around his fingers. He tugged your head back gently parting your lips from his. His lips barely touched you, as hot breath whispered against your skin. Down your neck, to your exposed throat. He suckled against you, a sweet sting that brought the most curious of noises out of you.

He smirked and whispered, "Again," before moving higher up your neck, just below your ear. He nipped, and that half-squeak half-moan slipped out. He seemed dazzled by that noise and took it as his personal challenge to see how many times he could pull that particular sound from you.

Finally, he came back to your mouth and his hot, wet kiss stole your breath, your heart… your soul.

And when he released your mouth, and you lay comfortable in his strong arms, looking up at this handsome, exquisite Dwarf with lips looking swollen and well-kissed and eyes, darkened to cobalt.

"You were saying?" he asked, one eyebrow flicking up.

You frowned puzzled, muddled, unable to think and could only reply, "I'm sorry, were we talking?"


End file.
